Dear aunt Margit.

I have began this letter a thousand times. I want to find an opening that really hits home, words that would hit you hard enough to crack you open and let some love in. You always were better at giving than receiving love. And everything else. But those words elude me, I can not find... Continue Reading →

Dear Rebel

I hate you. I hate that you made mom cry by being conceived, I never knew that we were poor until she started screaming that we couldn’t afford you. It’s impossible, she screamed, it’s your fault, she howled, she threw stuff at dad hollering how could you do this to me. Dad folded her into... Continue Reading →

Dear mom.

Please understand that I am not writing this to hurt you. I understand that memories must be painful for you, I have seen you dropping them as if they were white-hot coal. I take no joy in throwing fire at you, but I can no longer bare the burning inside my scull. I am writing... Continue Reading →

Dear uncle Joe.

You took me to church. You let me swim in the coloured light swirling in through the tinted windows, let me stroke the golden cape of Their Lady (not ours, you said, we spend our money feeding the poor now rather than erecting statues of poor people who’s been dead two thousand years) and you... Continue Reading →

Dear dad.

This is what I remember: Your cheeks didn’t sting. I pitied the children who had to hug bearded, itchy-stinging men good night. You smelled of strong tobacco and sweet pot, not bitter sweat, like the miners, or spicy, like Joe. You laughed a lot. You had long legs that never tired, and a voice that... Continue Reading →

The letters

I am beginning to forget things Like my reading glasses or the sentence I just read what I was about to say why I am having a conversation who this very familiar person is Today, I found myself staring at my screen, having no idea why I opened my laptop oblivious to the fact that... Continue Reading →

Welcome to my mailbox

Feel free to read my letters. Who knows, one of them might even be meant for you. English is my first language. I believed it to be the language of my parents, until my mother turned out to be Norwegian. From the time she relocated me from London, I only spoke english with my father.... Continue Reading →

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